


The Loved Ones

by WritingQuill



Series: (30) Days of Johnlock [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Slash, Romance, Sherlock Loves John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day eighteen: doing something together. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Every day at seven o’clock in the evening, John took Gladstone for a walk. He had moved back to Baker Street three months ago, and ever since then, Sherlock had joined him in his daily walks, with or without a case.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loved Ones

Every day at seven o’clock in the evening, John took Gladstone for a walk. He rarely smiled these days, but when he was out with the English bulldog, his eyes gleamed with a sort of restrained happiness he didn’t allow himself to feel yet. 

He had moved back to Baker Street three months ago, two months after Mary’s death, and two years since Sherlock’s return from his own, and ever since then, Sherlock had joined him in his daily walks, with or without a case. The time apart had taught Sherlock how precious his moments with John really had been, how much he enjoyed the company, the warmth, the laughter and the looks. After Sherlock had faked his death, John had mourned and grieved, as he was told by Mycroft and Lestrade, and about a year after, he had met Mary Morstan. 

Neither Mycroft nor Lestrade knew enough about her to tell him anything, but Sherlock had questioned Mrs Hudson excessively, and she had been more than happy to answer. According to her, Mary was brilliant. She had long auburn hair, falling in waves on her shoulder, framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were honey-coloured, and her smile inviting and present — but Sherlock had gathered all that from the picture he saw of her when he went to John’s flat. What Mrs Hudson told him was about _her_ , much more important. How she had made John smile again for the first time in ages, how they talked and laughed about the silliest things, how she told John that getting a dog would help him greatly — which it did —, and how she was just the sweetest, most understanding person Mrs Hudson had ever met, other than John himself. They had been happy together, John and Mary, even Sherlock saw that. By the time he returned, they had been married for six months — and Sherlock never regretted not having been present at the wedding, because he didn’t think he would have been able to stand there and watch John marry his perfect match without doing something incredibly stupid. 

Then Sherlock had been introduced to her. She knew him, she respected him like John did. And she seemed so happy that he was back, and she told him so, when they were alone, because now John had ‘everyone he loved with him’. She had smiled widely and patted him on the shoulder, then left. Sherlock had been absolutely gobsmacked because he wanted to hate her for taking John away, but he couldn’t, because she was good for him, she had saved him, so she should be allowed to keep him. 

About a year after Sherlock’s return, Mary feel ill. Really ill. Sherlock never really knew the details of her disease, he only knew that John didn’t have time for cases anymore, that he spent his free time with Mary at the hospital, that he barely even went home anymore, since he had asked Sherlock to take care of Gladstone for a while — ‘he needs a walk every day at seven in the evening, please don’t forget, ask Mrs Hudson if you’re on a case’, John had asked, his voice dark and filled with pain, it was clear that the prognosis wasn’t good. A few months of struggle, and Mary just couldn’t do it anymore. She died peacefully and quietly, Sherlock had been told, and John closed off again, losing another loved-one in the space of five years. Sherlock never saw him cry, but he saw John’s red, blood-shot, humid eyes when he went to visit him. He saw how John had made himself a bed on the sofa because he couldn’t stand to sleep in their bedroom. Sherlock saw everything, but he didn’t comment. 

After two months, John couldn’t stand it anymore. Their flat — it had “Watsons” written on the buzzer, Sherlock could never bring himself to look at it — was too filled with memories of Mary, as John had told Sherlock when he asked to move back in. Without a second’s thought, Sherlock had said yes, because that’s all he wanted, to live with John again. And now he had to make him happy again, at least try. He owed it to Mary, who had brought John back to life after Sherlock’s death. Except Mary’s hadn’t been faked, and she would never return, and John would never have all the people he loved alive and with him again. 

Now, as they strolled towards Regent’s Park for their daily walk, Sherlock was deep in thought, not of cases or science, but of John, of how to make him better. John was looking straight forward, paying attention to the small dog strutting happily in front of them. 

‘I love you, John,’ Sherlock said out of the blue. He was looking at the ground, very focused on the pattern of the asphalt. 

John’s head snapped to face him, eyes wide, showing more emotion than he had in months. 

‘What?’ he asked, quietly. ‘Y-you… love… me?’ 

‘Yes. I do. And I have for years… Even before Moriarty, even before The Woman, I think, but I only realised it after I had to be away from you, of course,’ Sherlock explained. 

John stared at him, his eyes clouded by different emotions Sherlock couldn’t name. He cleared his throat and tugged at Gladstone’s lead. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’ 

Sherlock sighed. This would be difficult to explain, he had never had much ability to express his feelings through words. 

‘You are sad. All the time, I look at you, and you’re sad. You pretend not to be so much around Mrs Hudson because she worries, but you are. I’m not asking you to do anything about this, you don’t have to feel the same way, or apologise, just…’ he sighed once more. ‘I think… you need someone to love you at this moment. And I do. And I’ll always be here, John, I promise. I’ll never leave you again, don’t think I ever could. So, you just needed to know that you can be sad and still feel bad, but there is still someone who cares for you deeply. Other than the dog, that is.’ After his speech, Sherlock forced himself to look into John’s eyes. They were red and crinkled, his mouth quirked into a quasi-smile. He nodded ever-so-slightly, then moved to look at Gladstone. Sherlock kept his gaze on John’s face. 

‘That is… thank you. I didn’t know I needed that, but… yes, thank you,’ John said, sounding a bit relieved, as if the a bit of the burden of grieving someone he loved had been lifted off his shoulders. 

Sherlock stepped forward and bent down, placing a small kiss on John’s cheek as a promise that he’d always be there. It grounded John enough that he looked up and smiled properly for the first time since Mary’s diagnosis. John took Sherlock’s hand in his and squeezed tightly, giving him a meaningful look, then he let it go. 

Standing closer together, shoulder’s brushing, Sherlock and John resumed their walk.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tad angsty, isn't it? Sorry about that. I promise a lot of fluff tomorrow :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it, anyway. Please leave comments, they are brilliant!


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